


Foolish fragile spine

by aredburn



Category: Beauty and the Beast (TV 2012), Beauty and the Beast (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aredburn/pseuds/aredburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wants to be happy again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foolish fragile spine

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is I just wanted Vincent and Cat to have sex.
> 
> Posted at ff.net February 4th

The moment she opens her bedroom door she feels a change in the air; it becomes thicker, heavier and she feels the familiar awakening of her body cells. She doesn’t need to look out the window to know he’s there.

 

“Vincent, what are you doing here?”

 

He peeks around the window, a sheepish expression on his face, but she can see the seriousness behind it, the way his eyes are dark and the lines above them are deeper than usual. Vincent doesn’t step over the threshold like he usually does and it twists her heart to feel the distance starting to grow between them. “I need to talk to you.”

 

Catherine closes the door and moves to her bed; she wants to ignore him, to pretend the tension pulling at her doesn’t exist. She’s always felt her muscles go taut and her heart beat faster whenever she’s around him, but this time the air between them is laden with the unsaid, with shattered hopes, and at the same time she wants to hold on to that moment during the wedding reception when it had been just them, when they were in each other’s arms and the rest of the world had disappeared, giving her some semblance of normalcy, of what could be if Vincent’s head wasn’t for sale.

 

“There’s nothing left to talk about, Vincent.” Not until he figures out what he wants. She sits on the bed and removes her boots and wishes she could have a moment of peace, a moment when her life isn’t filled with tragedies and lies and desires to be with someone she clearly cannot have.

 

He finally steps in, the curtains blowing gently at his entrance and she tenses up. She’s too tired for another fight. “I’m not going to lie to you and say I don’t have feelings for her,” he starts and Catherine can hardly believe the words he’s saying. Did he come to let her down again?

 

“Vincent-”

 

He interrupts her with a raised hand and his expression softens. “Let me finish.” He takes a step forward and she holds her ground. All she wants to do is let her guard down and press herself against his chest, to let herself forget the world again and just _be_ with him. “She’s the girl I grew up with. My first girlfriend. The girl I had my first kiss with. The girl I took to prom, my first break up. She was my best friend.”

 

She feels the tears filling her eyes, trying hard not to let them spill over, wondering where the hell he’s going with this because it was cutting at her chest like sharp knives, because she wants him to profess his love to her even when she knows it’s a ludicrous thought. She wants to undo her day, to go back to the precinct and find a new case to work on, anything that will force her to stay out, to never come home, to not be faced with him when all she wants is to cry herself to sleep.

 

“You can’t expect me to simply shut off years of history with her, it doesn’t work that way,” he continues, his voice soft and his movements gentle. She realizes a moment too late he’s too close to her, his warmth permeating her skin even through their clothes and she wonders when he started moving, how she didn’t notice him invading her personal space. “I love her and I always will, but it doesn’t mean I’m in love with her.”

 

This makes Catherine pause and just like that a seed of hope is rooted into the back of her mind. “What are you saying, Vincent?”

 

“I don’t want to give up on us either and I’m sorry I was so stupid. I’m sorry I hurt you. I just got caught up in a life I thought I could get back, forgetting the life I have now. Forgetting the people I care about now.”

 

He’s so close she has to look up at him and when his hand rests gently against her cheek, she closes her eyes and leans into his touch. Her reaction is automatic, like some kind of instinct that forces her to move in when she should turn away. When she looks at him again he’s smiling, a small pull at the corners of his lips and his thumb is rubbing circles against her skin.

 

He was right, she realizes. She picks the bad boys because it’s easier to let them go when they want to move forward. It’s easier to fill their relationship with wrongs and complications when they aren’t Mr. Right, but there was one thing Vincent was wrong about: he isn’t a bad boy. He’s a wonderful person who was stripped  of everything good he ever was.  “It shouldn’t be this difficult.” Her hand lands on his shirt and her fingers curl around the fabric as if she’s holding on for support. “Maybe it’s just a sign we shouldn’t be together.” Her mouth says one thing, tries to keep the distance, to be logical, but her body says something else completely. She finds herself in his arms again, accepting his touches, allowing him to be so close she can feel his chest against hers.

 

“Maybe that’s what makes it all worth it.”

 

She wonders when this happened, this role reversal. When did he become the bold one, allowing himself to say what he’s thinking, what he wants? When did she become the scared one, feeling rejected and not worthy, trying to pull away when her feet stay rooted to the ground?

 

He stares at her with such intensity that all she wants to do is press her lips against his and never let go, and suddenly the air between them cackles with electricity and she does just that. Before she gives herself time to think, she moves forward and closes the space between them.

 

The first touch of lips is just a brush; her mouth lingering against his as goose bumps rise all over her body. She sighs into his mouth when his arms go around her, encircling her waist and cradling the back of her head with care. Her fingers find their way into his hair, fingertips scratching against his scalp and this time he sighs. This feels like a deep intake of fresh air, she thinks, filling her lungs and cleansing her body and her brain begs for more, more, more. 

 

Cat opens her mouth and he takes it as an invitation, pushing his tongue between her lips and kissing her with passion. The kiss is deep but slow, and lazy as they learn each other’s curves and tastes with no hurry or desperation.  Cat angles her head better and lets out a soft moan when his hand dips under her shirt and his fingers splay against her ribcage. She nips at his lower lip, gentle teeth scraping then licks over the bites and hears a deep growling form in the back of his throat. She can’t help but smile into their kiss.

 

They pull apart only far enough to breathe and Vincent brings both his hands to a rest against her cheeks, his forehead touching hers gently. She closes her eyes at the intimacy of the gesture and tries to take control of her frantically beating heart. She forgets everything that happened between them before this moment, all the fights and misunderstandings, the pain of the words he had said, hurtful and raw, but the love she feels for him is so simple that it overrides anything her brain tries to warn her about.

 

“This isn’t fair,” she says, her breath still labored and her eyes still closed.

 

“What?”

 

“You can hear my heart beating and I can’t hear yours.”

 

Vincent leans back and holds her hand, bringing it to his chest and resting her palm right above where his heart is. She feels the warmth enveloping her hand as his frantic heartbeat pulses against her skin and she’s suddenly overwhelmed with the sensation, as if the spot where their skin touches creates a deep connection between them as their heartbeats become one.

 

Cat leans forward until there’s no inch of space between them. She has to look up to meet Vincent’s eyes and when she does she gets lost, any coherent thought leaving her mind as he stares at her and his breath fans gently over her face. There’s a charge of electricity that runs through her entire body, leaving the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, violent fluttering in the pit of her stomach and when she runs a finger down his scar she realizes her hands are shaking.

 

“Vincent?”

 

He can barely get the word out, his breath labored and his lips so close to hers they’re almost touching. “Yes?”

 

“Can you feel it?” Something’s happening between them and the heaviness of the tension forces them forward. The words are on the tip of her tongue.

 

This time Vincent kisses her, a desperate press of lips as he lays siege upon her mouth. Teeth scraping and tongues, sliding against each other in such urgency that it makes her frenetic, awakes every single cell in her body and makes desire pool between her legs. She needs to feel more of him, to remove every layer of clothing separating their bodies; she aches for his touch.  Cat sneaks her hands under his jacket, brushing them over his shoulders and he lets her go only long enough for it to fall to the floor.

 

His lips leave her mouth to trail kisses on her jaw, down her neck, to stop in the hollow between her shoulder and neck, sucking and nibbling gently at her skin. She can’t stop the moan that escapes from her lips and her hands from grabbing the waistband of his jeans as she tries to unbuckle his belt. Her hands are shaking and her brain is shutting down and _she cannot get it done_. He pulls away then, his teeth leaving her skin and her brain immediately screams at her that he’s moving the wrong way.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

She’s silent for several seconds as her brain tries to process the words he just said and register them as real or a joke. Her hands have a death grab on his belt, fingers touching the sensitive skin just below his navel, her blood pumping through her veins as she tries to ignore what his hands are doing to her breasts as his fingertips tease her over her bra. She’s in a desperate attempt to remove his pants and he’s asking if she’s sure. She doesn’t know whether to slap or kiss him.

 

“Yes.” She nods, tugging at his belt and the motion brings a lazy smile to his lips.

 

Vincent kisses her again, a full kiss that leaves her lips burning when he pulls away to remove her shirt and help her unbuckle his belt. She wonders if it’s been as long to him as it has been to her then realizes that he has spent the past _ten years_ in hiding. She tries to ignore the little voice in the back of her head reminding her about Alex because she doesn’t want to believe Vincent would be that reckless.

 

He removes her shirt, kissing his way down her chest, hands gently sliding down her back and fingers brushing against her skin. Cat holds on to his shoulders as his fingers sneak past her waistband and ink his pads against her skin. She presses herself against him, hips to hips and the friction between their pelvis makes both of them moan.

 

Cat moves backwards until her legs hit her bed and she lies down, pulling Vincent on top of her. He moves gently, supporting his body with his arms on either side of her as her legs lock around his hips. Even spite the urgency and need she feels burning inside of her, they stay there, lying on her bed, making out like two teenagers, learning and exploring each other’s bodies with their hands and mouths. He tugs at her pants, moving away from her so he can remove her jeans and she laughs when he has trouble pulling them down her legs.

 

Vincent kisses his way down her chest, lingering on the swell of her right breast, on the pink scar that has yet to heal completely. He leans back and brings a finger to the scar, running his thumb gently around the mark and Cat can feel the terror and anger coming off of him in waves and wonders how much worse it had been the night he found her half dead.

 

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he says in a whisper, half his mind lost in that day and Cat puts her arms around his neck, pulls him forward until their lips are only a breath away and their eyes are so close he has no choice but look straight at her.

 

“I’m still here.” She covers his right cheek with her palm, her skin in direct contact with _his_ scar and he closes his eyes, leaning into her touch. She feels like they can’t get any closer than they are in this very moment.

 

He kisses her with all the hurt and pain and raw need he feels, turns their kiss into a bittersweet taste filled with regrets and _‘almost's’_ and ‘ _what-is’_ and Cat wants to go back to when it was so much simpler; to when keeping his identity hidden was her only worry. She wants to turn her life back into the right direction and hopes that from now on that’s how it will be.

 

 He removes her bra without hurry and when he leans back to stare at her Cat feels self-conscious and can’t help the blush that rises on her cheeks; small, delicate breast that don’t seem to bother him because he pays thorough attention to them.  Cat lets out little moans she tries to hold back, running her fingers through his hair and holding on as he licks and nips and kisses.

 

He kisses his way down her stomach and when his tongue reaches the sensitive skin below her navel he growls low on the back of his throat and she smiles. When he looks at her his eyes are glowing and she tenses up involuntarily. “I’m sorry,” he says moving back up until their chests are pressed against each other and the pressure of skin to skin makes her shiver. “I’ve never…” He stops, trying to find the words, the right way to express himself. “I’ve just never done this after…”

 

“It’s okay.” Cat reaches for him, her arms locking around his back and moves her hips suggestively against his. Vincent growls again, the sudden growing on instinct as his eyes flash yellow again. “Vincent, I trust you,” she says, forcing him to look at her when he tries to turn away, one hand on his cheek keeping his eyes to hers. “I trust you with my life.”

 

He lets that sink in, her words being processed by his brain as he decides if he trust in him is enough. She smiles, kissing him deep, helping him make the decision faster and when she pulls away Vincent gives her another kiss, quickly sweeping her mouth with his tongue before he moves back down. “Is your door locked?” 

 

“Heather is out for the night.”

 

That seems to be enough. He pulls her underwear down, fingers teasing every inch of skin he can touch, tongue following behind, as he kisses and licks the inside of her tights. Her muscles tense up when he reaches the exact spot she needs him the most and he holds her legs in place, licking over her swollen bud as the pressure builds within her, her blood pressure sky rocketing and her breath labored. Cat tries to keep her little noises to herself but she feels like it’s impossible to hold them back, squeaky little sounds she can’t remember ever making with any other guy she’s been with. She’s close to going over the edge, her hands going numb and her legs growing rigid; so close when he suddenly stops and the absence of his mouth brings a strange, unwelcome cold between her legs. “Why are you stopping?” she asks exasperated, staring down at his glowing eyes, but still very human features as he stares back at her with a satisfied expression on his face.

 

Vincent licks his lips and makes his way back up at her, kissing her scar before kissing her mouth. “I want to be inside of you when you come for the first time.”

 

Cat closes her eyes and takes a deep breath because _she’ll be damned_ if that doesn’t make her want to come faster.  “Just… shut up.” She grabs the back of his head and pulls him to her, clashing their lips together as she shifts her hips so he’s in the right position. 

 

He growls into her mouth when she grinds her hips against his and Vincent brings a hand to her hip, holding her in place and stopping her from squirming. He slides in so slowly she wonders how he manages to keep such control when she can barely think and his beast is raging war inside of him.

 

Cat tries to control her breathing and moans when he fills her completely. Amidst the emotions swirling around her brain in a storm of feelings, she thinks that they fit so well together, as if they were made of the same mold. She had noticed how well she fit in his arms the first time they danced as his hands rested against the small of her back and her hands slid down his arms, feelings the muscles go taut with her touch.

 

They find their rhythm pretty quickly, moving together in such an easy way she’s surprised at how familiar it feels.

 

Vincent shifts her hips again, one hand to her hip, the other around the small of her back, as he thrusts deeper and she feels a zing run through her body, letting out a strange sound, a loud moan full of pleasure and surprise and shock as she feels something awake inside of her.

 

“Did I find a sweet spot?” He thrust again, doing the same thing and Catherine feels the same powerful electric shock run through her entire body and she can’t help the sounds coming out of her mouth.

 

“Vincent…” the words come out in a moan, slurred and lazy, as he moves within her, as the tension builds up again. Cat’s legs go rigid around him as she grabs his shoulders, fingernails sinking in so deep she’s sure they’ll leave marks in the morning, and she gasps as she feels the familiar burning, then the release that explodes behind her eyelids.

 

He thrusts again once, then twice, shivers as his hands close around her hips, his mouth pressing against hers and she feels the warmth flood her from the inside. When he releases her lips so press his against her neck she feels the words form on her tongue, almost leaves her lips.

 

She wants to tell him, she wants to let him know how much he really means to her, but that’s such a painful revelation she needs time to settle, to get used to telling _him_ that, to be sure she’s ready to face the consequences once the words are out and she’s vulnerable and so open to him.

 

Instead she follows his lead, lies against his chest and listens to his heart as its beats lull her to sleep. They’re both soon lost to exhaustion, dark enveloping them as they sleep tangled in each other, arms and legs so entwined she doesn’t know how they’ll be able to separate in the morning.

 

She hears a murmur from his lips just before she gives in to sleep, something that feels oddly familiar to what she wants to tell him and she promises herself she’ll do it in the morning.

 

She’ll tell him then she loves him and damned be the consequences because she’s tired of losing. Because she’s tired of hurting. Because she wants to be happy again.

 


End file.
